I wonder why I’m still glad Lukas doesn’t know I have a son.
‘I don’t know. It’ll probably be for lunch, or to the theatre. A couple of years ago he bought me tickets to the opera, but then couldn’t come. I went with Adrienne.’
‘Who’s Adrienne?’
‘Just a friend. I’ve known her for years. Since I moved to London, pretty much.’
‘Will you and your husband have sex?’
I look at him. ‘That’s not fair.’
He knows I’m right. ‘You know, you sound like you don’t much care where your husband is taking you, or what you’re going to do.’
I stand up and begin to gather my clothes. It’s not true, quite, but we’re playing a game, and I know what I have to say. ‘I don’t, really. I’d much rather spend the day here, with you.’
‘That’s what I want, too.’
I take a deep breath. I’ve been putting it off, but I have to ask, before I leave.
‘Did you find anything out? About Kate?’
He stands up and begins to get dressed.
‘Not yet. I’m working on it.’
Are you? I think. For some reason I’m not sure I believe him.
‘I was thinking about the earring. The one you said was missing.’
‘Yes?’
‘Are you sure the police are looking into that? I mean, it’s looking like it might be a more fruitful lead than looking at her internet friends?’
‘Well, they say they are, but I’m not sure.’
He kisses me. ‘Leave it with me. I’m sure something will come up. We’ll just have to keep digging.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Don’t mention it.’ He kisses me goodbye. ‘By the way, you haven’t had your present from me, yet.’
I smile.
‘You’ll get it later. It’s a surprise.’
I leave one hotel to go straight to another. My head is throbbing, there’s a rip in my shirt that I try to cover up by buttoning up my jacket. When I arrive, I see Hugh across the lobby. He’s sitting in an armchair; across the room from him there’s a piano, above hangs a huge chandelier. I go over to my husband and he stands as I approach. He looks tired, and I feel guilty.
‘Darling!’ he says. ‘How was it?’
I tell him it was fine. I see he’s got a beach bag with him, one of mine. It must’ve been the first one he found. We sit and he pours me a tea.
‘Here you go.’ I take it from him. I look around the room at the other guests: an older couple eating scones, two women having lunch and discussing something in hushed voices, a man with a newspaper. I wonder what kind of person stays in the hotel, whether it’s the kind of place Lukas might one day invite me.
‘It’s going well,’ says Hugh suddenly. ‘Your therapy, I mean. You seem much …’
‘Better?’
‘No. Relaxed? At peace? You seem to be much clearer about Kate’s death.’
He waits, as if I’m going to say more. When I don’t, he says, ‘You can talk to me, you know.’
‘I know that.’
‘We did our best, you know? To help her. To be there for her.’
I look away. I want to change the subject. ‘It’s just … well … it’s complicated.’
‘Connor, you mean?’
‘Yes.’
‘It wouldn’t have turned out better, you know. If he’d stayed with her. It would have been exactly the same … or worse. We had to get him out of there. It wasn’t a good place for him.’
I shrug, then say, ‘Maybe. D’you think he’s all right?’
‘I think so. I mean, he’s struggling a little. With the Kate thing. It must be very confusing for him.’
‘I guess,’ I say. ‘I’m going to take him out next week. We’re spending the day together. The cinema, or something. I’ll talk to him then.’
He nods. I feel guilty. I should’ve discussed this with him already. We should be united when it comes to Connor, as we always have been before.
‘Good idea,’ he says. ‘He’ll be fine, you know. He’s a good lad. He has his head screwed on.’
‘I hope so.’
‘You know, I think he has a girlfriend.’
He smiles. A pleasant complicity between a father and his son.
‘Really?’ I’m surprised, even though I shouldn’t be, and I feel the heat of jealousy. I always thought I’d be the one he came to, confided in.
‘Haven’t you noticed? He keeps mentioning this girl – Evie.’
I smile. I don’t know why I’m so relieved.
‘I think I’ve met her.’
‘Really?’
I think back to Carla’s party. The girl I’d seen Connor with; I’m sure that was her name.
‘Yes. She seems okay.’
‘That’s good.’ He drinks some of his tea. ‘He’s seeing a lot of Dylan, too. He’s popular. He’ll be fine.’
He pauses.
‘And tonight we have the house to ourselves. I thought we could get some dinner, and then …’
The sentence peters out. I think of the marks on my back, my thighs. For a week I’ve been going to bed early, undressing in the dark, grabbing my robe as soon as I wake up. I can’t let him see the bruises.
I commit myself to nothing. ‘That’d be lovely.’
He smiles.
‘So, what’re we doing here?’
He grins, then puts down his cup. He shifts forward in his seat, as if he’s about to stand, to make a presentation, or an announcement. ‘Well, I thought we needed to relax …’ He beams. He hands me my bag; inside it I can see the dark blue of my swimming costume, my shampoo and conditioner.
‘They have a spa here.’ He points to the sign by the lobby. ‘Now, I’ve booked you a pedicure, and we’re both having a massage. I had arranged that for midday, but it’s okay, they’ve moved it to the afternoon …’
‘A spa?’
‘Yes. We can spend all day here. They’ve got steam rooms and a sauna, and a pool …’
‘Great,’ I say. Anxiety begins to roll in my stomach, to swell into panic. My costume is cut low at the back.
‘Shall we go? Unless you’d like lunch here, first?’
I shake my head. I don’t know what I’m going to do. ‘It’s fine.’
‘This is your day …’
‘I know.’ I’m desperately trying to think of an excuse, a way out of it. But there isn’t one; we’re already heading back through the lobby, towards the spa. I think of when I got dressed, just an hour or so ago, in the room with Lukas. I’d looked over my shoulder at my reflection in the full-length mirror. The bruises were dark and purpling, unmistakable.
He’s sitting by the pool, where he said he’d be. He’s ordered a juice for both of us – it’s green, and looks organic – and is sipping his. He’s wearing his shorts, the pair I bought for him just before our last holiday, to Turkey. Dimly, beneath the layers of worry, I’m aware that he looks good. He’s lost weight.
I sit down next to him. I’ve wrapped my towel around my chest.
‘Fancy a swim?’
I lie back on the lounger. ‘In a while.’ He puts his paper down.
‘Come on.’ He stands up. ‘There’s a jacuzzi. I’m going in now.’
He holds out his hand and I have no option but to take it. I feel a sense of dread, of inexorable momentum. And also guilt; only a couple of hours ago it’d been another man holding his hand out to me.
We go over and sit in the pool. The water is warm and clear. Hugh activates the jacuzzi and it begins to bubble. I lie back, staring at the light dancing on the ceiling, reflected from the thrashing water. The bruises on my back sting, as if I’ve been branded.
For a moment I want to tell him everything. About Lukas, and what I’ve been doing. It wasn’t my fault, I want to say. Kate died and I went off the rails, and …
And what? And it doesn’t mean anything? I genuinely thought I was trying to find out who killed her, for me, for her son? I thought I was doing the right thing?
But who am I trying to kid?
‘Hugh—’ I say, but he cuts me dead.
‘I want to talk to you.’
I look at him. This is it, I think.
It hits me. Connor saw it all, in the summer house at Carla’s party. He’s finally told his father.
Or someone has seen me, on the street, in a hotel lobby, kissing someone who is not my husband.